


the way you were made you highly untouchable

by epsilon_naught



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 17:20:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15645384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epsilon_naught/pseuds/epsilon_naught
Summary: a character study on dennis character studying mac + PWP





	the way you were made you highly untouchable

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for canon-typical unpleasantness. 
> 
> title is from neptune's jewels by mystic.

As much as he fucks around, Dennis takes his power seriously. He knows the magnitude of what he plays with. The D.E.N.N.I.S system, for all he brags about it, is just the tip of a much more complex iceberg that the rest of the gang could never even comprehend, much less execute successfully. 

Dennis holds hearts, souls, lives in his hands, and he can crush them over and over again, squeeze them until they shake and quiver in his grip, but he always lets go right before they turn to dust. Keeps them fresh for the next time. 

Dennis used to be careful with Mac, so careful. Mac was special, because he’d fallen at Dennis’s feet all by himself. He’d seen the shine in Mac’s eyes from the first time they’d met, felt the dulled weight of his gaze when they were both stoned beyond belief on Mac’s fresh stash. 

Mac has always worshipped him, and Dennis has always fucking known. Mac is absolutely terrible at keeping anything under wraps - everything he’s ever wanted is always written on his face. The resolute enthusiasm every time he tells Dennis how much his mom loves him, how excited his dad is whenever Mac visits him in prison. The fake bravado lacing every mangled karate kick. The shame held in tight shoulders and clenched teeth when Dennis walks out of the shower in just his boxers and Mac looks away just a second too late. 

It wouldn’t matter even if he stabbed Mac in the chest and left him to die - Mac would go to hell with Dennis’s name on his lips. 

So he used to be careful with Mac, because he’s never met anyone so easy for him in his life. He could have Mac any way he wanted in seconds. 

It’s eleven p.m. on a Tuesday night. They’d left the bar early because Dennis wanted to, and now Dennis was stretched out on the couch, and Mac was on the ground, back against the sofa, legs stretched out. They were passing a bottle of cheap tequila back and forth, and Mac kept slipping down until his head hit Dennis’s thigh, then jerking back up guiltily, taking a longer pull of tequila every time. 

Mac was prattling on about something. Dennis thinks the conversation had initially been about what to watch, but half a bottle of tequila later, the TV was still dark, and Mac was still talking. He keeps turning to look at Dennis, and Dennis can see a lot of things - how red and wet Mac’s lips are from worrying at them between his teeth between pulls, and how mussed his hair is from his sliding-and-jerking routine. How long his fingers are and how wide his palm is, and suddenly Dennis really needs to touch, and so he does, leaning down to grab Mac’s non-tequila-holding hand in his and tracing the knuckles carefully. 

“You’ve got piano player hands.” Dennis says, and he knows his voice is slurring. He inspects Mac’s hand closely, bringing it close to his face and just looking. It’s covered in scars and fresh cuts because Mac has never been careful about anything in his whole fucking life. Dennis can see everything written here as clearly as he can see everything written on Mac’s face. The long wide scar across his palm from all the blood oaths, and the perpetual bruises on his knuckles from punching walls and other assorted objects. 

“You could have done a lot of shit,” Dennis continues, “if you weren’t so fucking stupid all the time.” 

Dennis used to be careful with Mac, but it’s not worth it anymore. He hasn’t had the energy for his usual allowances for a long time, and he’s left Mac alone to lick his wounds more often than not. Mac can take it, can take it better than anyone Dennis has ever met, and Dennis is sick of pretending, now, that Mac doesn’t deserve everything he gets. There’s only so many years of delusion that a man can put up with, and Dennis is really fucking close to reaching his limit. 

He’d thought they could last forever the way they were - blood brothers, best friends, roommates who were just a little codependent, and then one day he would find a nice girl and have nice kids and leave the gang and the shithole that was Paddy’s behind in the dust and grime to rot. 

The problem now is that he tried that and he failed. Maureen was crazy, but that couldn’t have been the problem, because Dennis has been putting up with Mac’s fucking crazy for going on fifteen years now, and he couldn’t handle Maureen for even a week. 

Dennis knew Mac was special. He’s always known. And that’s why he was careful, but now it feels like he was too careful. He’d given Mac too much, walked out of the shower almost naked too often, climbed into his bed drunk too many times, stood right up next to him and draped an arm around his shoulder and called him his life partner way too many fucking times for it to work out the way he’d wanted, and now Dennis was paying the goddamn price for ignoring his system. He’s been oscillating between “neglect emotionally” and “inspire hope” for fifteen motherfucking years when he should have separated entirely the first time he’d glanced over at Mac to find him already looking at him, and felt a soft, foreign warmth in his stomach. 

Mac is looking at him the same way now, still gentle and not at all defensive, and he usually at least puts up a good show of nonsense anger, but the tequila is easing his defenses. Mac is looking directly at him, staring straight into his eyes, not a trace of anything but soft affection in his expression, loose and trusting. 

Dennis knows the alcohol is just another resource in Mac’s arsenal of excuses. Mac has never been angry at him the way he gets angry at literally everything else. Mac’s directionless, limitless rage has never once been directed in Dennis’s direction, not truly, not genuinely, and Dennis for once just wants it, craves it, needs Mac to look at him with anything but absolute fucking devotion in his eyes. 

He’d always thought that what he deserved from the world was that kind of true devotion, loyalty without question, without doubt. 

Mac’s unwavering faith in him - it makes him feel fallible and weak, because Dennis has fucked up over and over again. Dennis knows that he’s twisted up and wrong on the inside in all the worst ways, of course he knows. It was his fault that his fucking sham of a marriage failed, and it’s his fault that Mac is stuck here, in an endless cycle of binge drinking and emergency rooms, living a truly shitty life instead of the mediocrity he was destined for. 

He doesn’t know if it’s that Mac doesn’t realize - he must realize, he has to know - or if it’s that he doesn’t care. 

Mac has turned towards him, and there is something nervous in his eyes behind the usual casual, open affection. Dennis stands up, letting go of Mac, but of course Mac follows him immediately, faltering a few times on his way up, and stumbling once he gets there.

He still hasn’t said anything, which is monumentous, if Dennis thinks about it, but he’s not, because Mac is standing too close and too far from him, and he’s just - waiting. Just waiting for Dennis to make his next move, so that he can react accordingly. 

The thing that gets him, the thing that gets him every fucking time, the summer after eight grade, and in Mac’s shitty basement in ‘97, or that first night in their apartment back in 2005, is the goddamn rush. Nothing has ever got him going the way Mac’s wide-eyed innocence does - and it’s real, genuine innocence, not the fake shit that the girls at Penn always tried on him. Mac is naive in all the worst ways, forever forgiving, forever desperate for affection, choking for it, really, and Dennis is the only one that ever gives it to him, and Dennis knows that nothing will ever feel as fucking good as the moment he finally lets Mac have what he wants. 

Mac is still waiting, his hair tousled and hands restless at his sides, and Dennis takes a step towards him and then another, but Mac is good, so good, he doesn’t move an inch, and honestly, Mac’s been good for a while now. 

It’s Dennis that’s been bad, and stupid, and it’s Dennis that deserves to be punished tonight. 

He takes a final step closer towards Mac, and now they’re literally breathing the same air, and Mac’s eyes are closed. 

“Look at me.” Dennis commands, and Mac’s eyes open. 

Dennis kisses him, missing Mac’s mouth for the most part, but Mac’s hands come up immediately, cradling Dennis’s face gently, maneuvering him into a more comfortable position with a surprising amount of care. 

Mac kisses sloppily, messy and wet, no technique whatsoever, but Dennis has time to fix that later. 

Tonight is about Mac.

Dennis lets himself be manhandled, and Mac pushes at his shoulders roughly until Dennis is pressed up against the wall. Mac is trying to be masculine, dominant, but Dennis knows that aggression isn’t what Mac really wants. It’s just what he thinks he has to do, a sacrifice for enjoying something so clearly against his rules. 

Dennis runs his hands up and down Mac’s bare arms, slowly, feeling the muscles clench and tighten under his light grasp, and Mac shivers at the touch. Mac pulls away for a second, and his eyes are blown and his cheeks flushed, and Dennis makes a decision. For Mac’s own good, of course. 

He leans in to kiss Mac again, yanking him closer by the fabric of his shirt before sliding his hands under the hem, letting his hands roam across the smooth planes of Mac’s abs. He plants his hands on Mac’s hips and turns them around so that Mac is the one with his back to the wall, and then Dennis drops to his knees. 

He pauses for a moment, looking up at Mac, because he really feels like Mac should have said something by now, a token protest or denial - something. Instead, he looks entirely blissed out, and he takes Dennis’s lack of action as an excuse to touch, his long fingers tracing the shape of Dennis’s cheekbones, tangling in his curls. 

“You’re okay with this?” Dennis says, incredulously. His position isn’t the most obviously powerful, but Dennis knows that he’s the one in control here. Mac has the audacity to look almost confused for a moment, and then properly chagrined, and Dennis begins to pull away, certain that Mac is going to need some extra cajoling before the night can proceed. But Mac’s hands are firm in his hair, and Dennis glances up to see Mac set his jaw in determination, and he takes a deep breath before opening his mouth. 

“I’m just glad you don’t actually hate me, bro. ‘Cause you know, I was kinda worried in the middle there. You were being kinda mean to me, like all the time, and it was just me, ya know, and like none of the rest of gang, and-” Mac keeps talking, but that is all that Dennis really needs to hear. 

Dennis has always liked sucking cock, if he’s being honest with himself. He likes that it takes real skill to give a good blowjob, and that he was a natural. He likes the feeling of power that accompanies making someone lose control so completely, and his predictions as to how someone will react when he closes his mouth around their cock and hums, or when he pulls off to lick at the head, looking straight up with his eyes wide. 

He likes the physicality of it too, the sure, thick weight of a cock on his tongue, the feeling of it as it fills his throat, the salty, bitter taste of precum in his mouth, and the unmistakable ache in his jaw that last well into the next morning. 

Mac has a nice dick, Dennis can’t begrudge him that. Mac gasps when Dennis pulls it out of his boxers, and moans, quieter than Dennis had expected, when Dennis finally takes him in, fingers slackening and tightening in Dennis’s hair. Dennis leans back a little, and licks at his slit, and Mac shoves his hips forward impatiently, so Dennis pulls off entirely, even though the whine that escapes Mac’s throat at Dennis’s sudden departure goes straight to his cock. 

He shoves Mac’s jeans and his boxers down to his knees, and nudges his thighs apart a little more, nuzzling into the crook of his leg, biting and licking at the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. 

He expects protests - this is supposed to be a punishment for Mac’s impatience - but Mac’s head is tilted back, and he’s stroking Dennis’s head reverently, and keeping a consistent litany of something vaguely filthy,

“Yeah - ah, just like that, shit, fuck dude, you’re so fucking good at that, feels so fucking good, Jesus fuck, I think I could come from just your mouth there, Den, don’t even need you to suck my cock, bro.” 

Dennis pulls away and looks at Mac in almost disbelief. 

“Christ, Mac, you’re probably the first man in existence to fucking say that you don’t need a blowjob while you’re fucking getting one.” 

“I lied, I lied, Dennis, I need you to suck my dick so bad, please - ”

Mac has never been so verbal with what he wants. He has always shamefully taken whatever Dennis decides to give him. He’s never even asked for anything, much less begged the way he clearly is right now, and Dennis can feel his cock straining against his jeans at the sentiment. He dives back in, gripping the sharp bones of Mac’s hips tightly as he takes Mac’s cock in all at once, and Mac tries immediately to fuck into his mouth, but Dennis holds him in place, bobbing his head back and forth, slowly at first and then increasing his pace with Mac’s endless stream of dirty words. 

His only warning before Mac spills down his throat is the sudden cease in Mac’s monologue. Mac sucks in a deep breath and then closes his mouth tightly, grasping at Dennis’s hair to yank his mouth further up his dick. 

Mac comes silently; the only noise is Dennis’s own strangled breath, and he scrambles to undo his zipper and get a hand on his own cock as Mac continues to choke him on his dick. Mac spurts a couple times with aftershocks into Dennis’s used throat, and then releases his grip unceremoniously, leaving Dennis to pull off his rapidly softening cock. Mac’s knees buckle and he slides slowly to the floor. Dennis is still working his cock with long, slow strokes, but Mac knocks his hand off, kicking off his jeans and dragging Dennis onto his lap, wrapping a large, calloused hand around his cock as he leans in for a kiss. Dennis’s mouth still tastes like Mac’s come, and Mac should jerk back as soon as he remembers, but he just deepens the kiss as soon as Dennis reciprocates. He’s mimicking Dennis’s technique as he jerks him off, going slow, his grip loose, but Dennis is already on the edge, has been since Mac fucked his throat with his cock. Dennis swallows, feeling his sore, bruised throat, and Mac pulls away, abandoning his mouth in favor of his throat, and he times a sharp bite with a swipe of his thumb over the head of his cock, and that’s all Dennis needs, he’s spilling over Mac’s hands, and he breathes out a quiet -

“Mac.” 

\- but Mac doesn’t let up, keeping the same slow pace until Dennis is utterly, completely empty, and even then he continues his assault on Dennis’s throat, sucking at the sensitive skin until there’s a clear, purpling bruise. He finally pulls back, and Dennis slumps against his chest, spent. 

They stay like that for a moment, and then Mac kisses the top of his head. 

“We’re super gross.” he observes into Dennis’s hair, and Dennis mumbles incoherently in response. Mac sighs, and stands up, scooping Dennis up with him easily, although barely three months ago he couldn’t even get Dennis’s feet off the ground. 

Dennis tries to pretend that the sudden show of strength doesn’t go straight to his absolutely exhausted dick, but it definitely does go straight to his spank bank. 

Not that Mac is what he usually thinks about while masturbating. 

Mac dumps him on the bed before disappearing into the bathroom, presumably to wash his hands off, and he returns with a wet paper towel, wiping stray streaks of come off of Dennis’s stomach. Dennis is struck, suddenly, with the normalcy of it all - the nonchalant way Mac balls up the paper towel and yells “Kobe” as he throws it into the small trash can in the corner of the room. He makes the shot, and he cheers, stripping off his shirt and falling into bed with a sunny grin on his face. 

“Did you see that, Den? I made it!” 

“I did see that, buddy, nice one.” Dennis allows, and Mac slides under the covers, still smiling, stupid and sweet, pressing up against Dennis’s back, slinging an arm over his chest and sliding his palm up his shirt so that it rests on his stomach. 

His breathing evens out quickly, and Dennis can feel the rise and fall of his chest against his back, the quiet puffs of air on the back of his neck. 

He thinks a lot of things in that moment (leaving, staying forever, Mac waking up tomorrow to an empty bed, the look on his face, disappointed and resigned). He thinks a lot of things in every moment, and it has always been both a curse and a blessing. 

But more importantly, Dennis is sated and warm, free of the restlessness that buzzes underneath his skin, and there is nothing and no one to wake up for, and so he sleeps.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr at epsilon-naught. please come talk to me. comment and tell me how you felt about this. thank you.


End file.
